


Sweet Symphony

by Itstheoperaghost



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eventual Smut, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Content, Slight hand kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:20:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28082301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itstheoperaghost/pseuds/Itstheoperaghost
Summary: Leroux based.After breaking off her engagement to Raoul, Christine descends into the bowels of the opera and begins taking lessons again from her masked companion.When new feelings are stirred within her towards him, she seeks out advice from an old friend.Soon after, she decides to take the matter of their mutual unfulfilled desire into her own hands.
Relationships: Christine Daaé/Erik | Phantom of the Opera
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, this is the first piece of fan-fiction iv posted in this fandom. 
> 
> Right now I estimate it to be around 3-5 Chapters, and I hope to post weekly. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy. 
> 
> Tumblr: itstheoperaghost.tumblr.com

Christine’s grip around the wood, loosens, her rowing ceases as she is jolted forward by the boat bumping the shore.A hand reaches out, and grips the edge, old splintered wood digging into her palm, steadying her, as she is forced forward.

Climbing from the old wood, onto solid ground, She slowly approaches the door, his door.She hesitates, her hand twitching.

She had been so sure of this decision last night, Upon the roof the night prior, she had still been shocked from seeing Erik’s face, that face, contorted in rage and anguish, and Raoul had been there a familiar, comforting presence,in the moment she had accepted his proposal. But alone in her room, she had thought about everything.

And the truth of the matter was, she could not marry him, not when her heart was elsewhere. 

She had penned out a letter of her rejection with the most gentle words she could. The following morning she had pulled out of the show, left her letter to Raoul on her dressing table, and passed through the mirror.

Her gloved hands fist, she inhales deeply, crosses the few steps to the door, reaches for the brass door knob, twists and pushes it open.

Immediately assaulted by the onslaught of light, she throws an arm over her eyes, lowering it slowly as they adjust,The drawing room doesn’t look much different, though the usual flowers are absent from the table, the bookshelves lining the walls are intact, and the red velvet curtain’s are pulled back from the windows.

She passes through the door opposite her, and the faint sound of a piano lures her further though the narrow corridor, She finds him in the parlour composing at his piano, His mask laying on the small table before the settee. His thin frame is made more severe in just his shirtsleeves, a black waistcoat and trousers.

She lets the door click shut behind her and he twists. his eyes aflame, fits clenched, the line of his body stiff with anticipation.

When his eyes fall on her that burning fire fades, his muscles, wound tight with tension, relax.

The sight makes something in her chest tug.

His face is just as horrible as she remembers, but her heart is no longer gripped with terror as she looks upon him.His skin an awfully unhealthy shade of yellow, stretched tight across sharp bones protruding from a sunken face. His eyes a burning shade of yellow set deep in his sockets.He towers above her, imposing as always, his clothes tailored, but still slightly baggy on his thin frame.

“Christine” he whispers, a hand twitching. “You…” He falters seeming to remember he is unmasked.

He dives over to the small table and slips his mask over his face, somehow still retaining that lethal grace he possesses.

“Erik” She breathes.

He stiffens, whirling around to face her, “Where is your viscount?” He hisses “Why are you not off making plans to betray me?”

“I’m Not.”

His scoff reaches her ears, as he straightens to his full height, crossing his arms.

“You, are a liar my dear, I heard you upon that rooftop, every word about how you perceive me, how I inspire nothing but horror in you, how you begged him to steal you away from the monster that lurks beneath.”

Her cheeks burn, she averts her gaze sheepishly; she longs to tell him she no longer feels that way, but the damage has been done.She pushes the feeling down and inhales shakily, she approaches him raising her chin in defiance, meeting his amber gaze.

“If that was still true, why would I be here now?”

“How should Erik know!” He spits, “You may be attempting to lure me, only to spite me, to hurt the monster, to toy with him and wound him so.”

“Erik” She says, voice shrill.

“I Will not be made a fool Christine!” His voice booms, hitting and reverberating against the walls.

She recoils, stung. “You think I would be that cruel.”

He says nothing. She watches his chest rise and fall, trailing her eyes up to his face; she catches those Golden flickers set deep in the holes of his mask.

“All I know of the world, is cruelty, Christine.”

Within his eyes she can see the glint of distrust.She looks down, her heart tugging.

“I’m not going with Raoul.”She peaks back up at him and his eyes have widened within his mask.

“Christine is not leaving her Erik?” He mumbles soft.

She shakes her head, “I’m staying here, If you will have me”

He pauses for a moment, and her fingers twitch beside her, wanting to peel off his mask, wanting to see his expressions.

“Christine Will stay here?”

“I will stay, but I will come and go as I please, you will not keep me bound here.”

“Of course.”

Sensing him calming she moves closer.His golden eyes fixed on her face water.Erik falls to his knees and buries his head in her skirts trying to disguise his anguish. His shoulders hitch and fall with his sobs, her heart shatters for him.

She remains still and cannot help when the words slip from her lips.“Poor, poor Erik.”He sobs harder, clutching her skirts. Mumbling words of love and praise.

She studies his head now without his wig, the sparse hair clinging to his scalp, and in part curiosity part an attempt to comfort him she hesitantly reaches out and stokes the little amount of hair along his scalp.He tenses immediately and his hand shoots out grasping her wrist with lethal quickness.

Her eyes widen, the rise and fall of her chest quickening. “Im sorry” She says.

He rises from the floor, dropping her wrist.“Forgive me” He says gently, “Erik is unused to contact from others in a non violent manner”

Her heart tugs, what kind of life had he led.

Drawing to his full height he turns from her and sits back at his piano, “I assume you must be rather tired making the journey alone,your room is made up as it will always remain.”

Her heart tugs again, poor Erik. She smiles Gently, “I am quite tired”

He inclines his head “Of course, goodnight Christine.”

She exits the parlour and pulls open the door of the Louis-Philippe Room. As promised, the room is spotless, the linens atop the large bed fresh, the room dusted and uncluttered.

She must admit, she always misses this bed when she is away, grander and more luxurious than anything she has ever slept on, it has provided her with some of her most restful sleeps.she strips down to her chemise and drawers and slides beneath the sheets of her bed, she sighs as her body sinks into the mattress, and as she snuggles into the pillows and sheets she cannot shake the overwhelming feeling that she is finally home. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

She stirs as an unfamiliar melody pours through the walls, curiosity piqued, she reluctantly slides from the warm cocoon of her bed.She hurries as she dresses, wrestling with the clothes she had shed the night before.

Brushing off her skirts to straighten them out she inhales deeply, steeling herself as she wonders what mood the man beyond her door will be in today. Her slender hand wraps around the handle as she pulls open the door and follows the music, Erik’s music, music which makes her pulse tick, her soul stir within its confines.She allows the music to pull at her, within her and she follows the soaring notes to a small room located in the back of the house, which as she enters assumes must be his music room.

He is mask-less again and she debates whether she should turn around, but she finds herself transfixed.

His eyes tightly shut, brows drawn, thin lips pursed, as the violin weeps and moans with every pass of the bow across wood and strings.

She knows she should turn away but she feels she cannot. Transfixed, her hand comes to her chest, and her eyes close, as she allows the dulcet sounds to wash over her, to surround her and embrace her.

When the violin sounds slowly ebb away, she opens her eyes, to find cat-like amber ones already on her, she sucks in a breath and studies him.He has replaced his mask again and he has returned his violin to its stand.She pauses as she tries to decipher his mood. There’s a gleam to his deep set eyes, the lines of his body still stiff but lacking the tension of his temper and the mask he has chosen solid not the usual material exposes the line of his thin mouth, which quirks at one edge.

And it hits her, music Is where he is confident, his escape, a balm to his torn soul.Perhaps if she could, share it with him, he would open up more.

“Would you continue my lessons?” She asks.

“It would be Erik’s pleasure to continue your lessons, there is still much you need to learn, follow me” He says as he glides out of the room.

She hurries after him having to jog a little to keep up with his long legged strides, he leads her to his bedroom, her shock at seeing the coffin laid open on the floor never ceases to startle her, and makes something within ache for this poor man.

She stares at it, unable to name the emotion that bubbles up in her chest. She brings her arms up and curls them around herself.

“Christine”

She turns her head towards him, where he sits perched upon the organ bench.Satisfied he has her attention he turns back to the organ, “Now, for today just practice I will observe and we will begin addressing issues next lesson,”

She nods.

“The usual warm up then Christine,” He says as his fingers begin coaxing music from the instrument.

Closing her eyes, she breaths, allows the notes to begin leaving her throat, her voice soaring through the scales.

Her eyes reopen and she finds her gaze drawn back to Erik’s hands, she had always found herself transfixed by those hands, long, elegant. Beautiful hands really. She watches as his slender, fingers pass over the ivory.

Such skilful hands,

She feels her heart jump, and face heat.She pushes on through the warm up trying to focus on the notes, on her breathing.Erik’s hands move faster along the keys, the tendons in his hands flexing, fingers curling along the ivory.She falters losing the note, her breathing hitching, her stomach clenches.

What’s wrong with her?

Erik’s hands still, he turns his head to the side regarding her. “Christine, you must focus, do not forget your breathing.

She clears her throat, and he whips his head around, eyes aflame within the mask.“And do not clear your throat. It is terrible for one’s vocal cords, have I not told you that before.”

“Yes, I, Sorry, I’m just a little distracted today.”

His eyes narrow and she imagines he is frowning behind his mask, “Distracted, Whatever by?” 

“Um, I, I was thinking about performing again.”

His eyes narrow further “Are you lying to Erik?”

“Im sorry, can we just continue please?”

He continues staring for a moment as if deciding whether to question her further before he turns back to the instrument.

She resumes singing, but this time squeezes her eyes shut so she can’t be put off by staring at his elegant hands.

She still doesn’t open her eyes when she finishes her sales or when the organ fades to silence.

“Christine”

She jolts, and raises a slender hand to her hammering heart. “Yes”

“Are you well?”

“What? Yes I’m fine.”

He hesitates a moment, stares at her as if trying to figure out if she’s lying.

He nods, then pulls out a sheet of music.

His hands take their place back against the organ keys, tensing and relaxing as he plays.

Her stomach twists.

She squeezes her eyes shut as she begins to sing.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Her following lessons, pass much the same, stumbling over notes, distracted by skilful hands passing over, today the Piano in the music room.

Erik’s shoulders have been growing increasingly tense each time she stumbles over a note.She can’t help it, the way his long, skilful fingers press into the notes, when his voice rises to meet hers, singing with her, she is lost, enveloped in the sweet pleasure of his voice.

She has never heard a voice like it, none so powerful, so beautiful, how could she not have believed him to be an angel with such a voice.

The notes stop, she peels open her eyes, he stands from the piano, she resists the urge to stumble back as he looms above her.

“Remember your breathing Christine” He says irritated.He circles her, “Christine you must not strain that beautiful instrument.”Her heart hammers between her ribs, her head following his movement, she feels dizzy with anticipation, her stomach fluttering.

He stops behind her, a long, bony hand reaches around to rest on her upper stomach, above her ribs.Her heart if possible beats faster, so fast she’s sure he can heat it. Her skin feels hot, tingles where he touches, even through her several layers of clothing, she is sure she is crimson in the face, from how her cheeks burn.

“Remember your breathing Christine, continue.”

Inhaling, she resumes, much too aware of him around her.

Her voice begins to soar through each note evenly, and pleased his hand slips from her stomach.The piano joins her as he begins to play, effortlessly picking up the notes.

Though he does not move she hears his voice whisper beside her ear. "Breath, Christine,” She swears she feels his breath upon her ear.

Her voice falters, a gasp tearing from her throat.

He lets out a sound of frustration, fists slamming down onto the keys.Christine flinches at the screech of disjointed notes.

Erik whirls on his chair to face her, “You try my patience Christine, what is it that’s so distracting today eh.”

She opens her mouth but nothing comes out, she closes it, then opens it again before sighing.

“Erik understands.”

Her heart jolts, was she so obvious?

“My cursed form is what’s so distracting eh,Monster, a walking corpse.”

“No, I-”

“My monstrous appearance, so in contrast to my musical prowess?”

“Stop it!” She stills, taken aback by her own raised voice. 

Her heart rises to her throat and she says much softer “Nothing like that, I asked for these lessons did I not?”

“I suppose you did, but do humour me, what is it you find so distracting, Erik cannot continue his teachings if you cannot concentrate.”

“Um, I, I have been worried about my decreasing abilities lately” She lies.

He tuts at her, “Nonsense Christine, you have the voice of an angle, you need only learn to fly.”

She nods and resumes her lesson, averting her eyes away from his hands.

She cannot help it, entranced, she cracks her eyes open, and she watches him caress the keys, tendons dancing.

As she watches, She recalls overheard whispers from ballet rats over the years, truly inappropriate things no respectable woman should discuss, or even listen to for that matter. Sorelli had been talking with a few other dancers about men, specifically about their hands, and the wonders that they could coax from the female body. Descriptions of rhythmic movements and curling fingers.

Heat pools low in her stomach, and she tries to suppress a gasp at the feeling, maintaining her current note.

The few stolen kisses she had shared with Raoul, had made her feel warm, giddy even, but were nothing like this, this sensation of coiling heat, nor the unsteadiness of her heart.

She reaches the end of the song, more out of breath than she should be.Erik’s eyes narrow at her, but he makes no further comment.

He turns his attention back to the piano, standing with such grace, in just a single movement.He pulls a sheet of music from the pile atop the piano and sits back at his bench. His eyes pass over the composition a moment, seeming satisfied, his elegant fingers pass the sheet to her. As she takes it from him, his fingers brush hers and she gasps, as his skin, a combination of smooth and calloused sends a jolt of something to her most secret places, and leaves the skin on her hand tingling.Erik jerks away from her in response, taking her gasp as revulsion not…

Well, whatever it was. Though she knew deep down exactly what she was feeling. Although inexperienced she was not entirely innocent, but for her own sanity she dare not name those feelings to herself.She couldn’t. She was an honourable woman despite her circumstances, such impulses were not proper.

She would just have to do her best to ignore these feelings, How hard could it be.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, Thank you for all the kind comments, reads, and kudos they are very appreciated. 
> 
> I hadn't expected to be updating so soon, but here you go, I hope you enjoy. 
> 
> Tumblr: itstheoperaghost

The answer she comes to know over the next couple of days is very hard, Impossible even to ignore these… Feelings, when he was constantly around her.

It had begun with dinner. After her singing lesson, she had returned to her room, retreating into thought, shortly after A knock came at her door. She had jumped, a slender hand pressed against her quickening heart as her breathing returned to normal.

“Christine, Are you well.”

It had not been an unfair conclusion to make, after their lesson she had practically fled from him and his damn hands.

“Yes” She managed “yes I’m fine”

He hummed “Would Christine like to eat, Erik has made dinner.”

Her head had shot up and she’d slipped from the bed.

Yes she’d thought, anything to distract her from her current predicament.

As she Reflects now, She admits, spending more time in proximity to him, had not been such a good idea to distract her from her feelings. But She had slipped from her bed, crossed over to the door and pulled it open, quite eagerly.

Her breath had hitched, at the sight of him towering in her door frame. He’d dressed in his usual, Black tailcoat, trousers and waistcoat and crisp white shirt beneath. Looking like any other well dressed gentleman, her eye’s roamed his form more appreciatively than she’d like to admit, landing on the cloth black mask obscuring his face.

Well maybe almost like any other gentleman.

She smiled at him. “Dinner would be lovely.”

She had not been thinking, when she had reached up and wrapped a slender hand around his upper arm, just above his elbow. He had tensed, pulled away slightly, his golden eyes had narrowed into slits in his mask, at first she had read annoyance there, incorrectly. Caught in that amber gaze she had stared back a little longer, observed his thin chest moving with quickened breaths and his unwillingness to pull away. It in fact had not been fear, her heart had squeezed as she read the disbelief, and a little fear reflecting in those piercing orbs.

Attempting to reassure him, she smiled up at him, gesturing down the hall, “Shall we go to dinner then.”

He immediately had straitened, as though he were a puppet, and his strings had been yanked. His bony hand had shook as he placed it atop her’s, her smile brightened, his nervousness an endearing contrast to anguish, and rage.

He had led her into the dining room, and as she entered the scents of herbs and spices had filled her with a strange warmth. He led her to the table and pulled out a chair for her, she had taken her seat and he had then made sure to push her in. A moment later He placed a steaming bowl of soup before her, and a basket of bread in the table’s centre. Holding the edge of the bowl with a towel.

The scene was awfully domestic and her heart filled with warmth as she looked up at him, Taking the seat across from her.

This impossible man, prone to fits of anguish, and turbulent moods, but so kind in some ways, Christine had an inkling that he would not know how to receive, even if someone offered, so unused to kindness from others as he was.

Poor Erik.

Most wife’s would be expected to do the cooking and the cleaning, he was just happy to have her with him. In that regard she knew he would make a lovely husband.

Strange… where had that though come from.

As she ate, her heart had fluttered as she felt his gaze upon her. She placed her spoon down and looked up at him, his golden eyes had pierced hers, she inhaled, steading her wild breaths.

“Will you not eat too.”

Erik shook his head. “Why not” She pressed.

“Erik will have to remove his mask to eat, he will not subject Christine to such a site.”

“Erik, I am not afraid nor repulsed by your appearance, and I should not like to eat alone, I cannot sit here and eat whilst you watch me hungry.”

“Erik, is ok he does not need to eat.”

“Everyone needs to eat, Please Erik.”

He sighed, “As you wish, my dear.” He reached up and removed the material from his face. As his deep set eyes, thin twisted mouth, sharp cheekbones and gaping hole of a nose was revealed she had only felt that strange warmth return in her chest.

Her lips curled up. He had returned her smile, hesitant and timid, and the site of his curling lips had taken her breath away. She had smiled brighter but the smile drained off her face, when she noticed the angry red patches along his cheekbones, where the mask had chafed.

She pushed back her chair and rose, crossing to him. He had watched her almost catlike, hyper aware of her every movement his hands fisting in the lace tablecloth, Standing before him she had inspected the injury along his cheekbones, angry red patches, with some scabbing and dried blood.

She couldn’t help herself, her heart had hammed beneath her chest as she reached out towards his face. She’d expected him to lash out, to grab her, but he hadn’t, her palm cupped his cheek. His skin was so cold, but pleasantly soft, his thin lips had parted, his breath came in small puffs, and his eyes were wide in their deep sockets. She brushed a thump gently across the small wound and he hissed.

“I don’t want to see you wearing that mask around me Erik, not when it is causing you pain.”

“Christine!” He choked on the word.

“It is you that is afraid Erik.”

“I do not deserve you angel.” He mumbled. His eyes had slid shut and he nuzzled into her hand. Her breath had caught, her heart gave a tug, cheeks growing warm, and the coiling heat had returned low in her stomach.

She pulled back sharply, and Erik’s eye’s snapped open. Quick to defuse the situation she grabbed his mask from the table and clutched it in her hands.

“Christine, are you’re sure your feeling well?”

“I, Yes, I, Im fine.”

“Your face is, growing pink, are you sure you don’t have a fever.”

Her face had grown hotter. “No I’m fine I Think I Shall retire for the night”

His face had twisted in confusion “It’s only six in the evening.”

“Yes, well I’m very tired”

“Should I call the doctor”

“No I’m fine, Erik, I am”

“Then what is wrong Christine, you’ve been acting very strange these past couple of days.”

She wished she had an answer to give, She couldn’t tell him the truth, that he had driven her mad with desire that in her private moments she’d imagine that terrible mouth on hers, and she’d pictured his musicians hands all over her body, playing her as he would an instrument.

What would he think of her? He’d think her wanton, impure, he’d no longer look upon her with such adoration, such love.

She had hugged herself sat on the end of her bed close to tears, and collapsed back onto her bed, her brows drawn, as her teeth worried her bottom lip.

What was she going to do? What could she do? Did Erik even think of her that way? Did he desire her as she did him?

Alone in her room the image of calling him into her room, pulling him to her, pressing her lips to his twisted one’s, had risen in her mind, unbidden.

Would he respond, move his mouth against hers?

In her fantasy he did, and she had allowed her hands to roam, imagining his hands, his lips. And in the privacy of her own room she had indulged her fantasies, pressing her fingers to herself, brining herself to the edge and falling over it crying out into the emptiness of her room, as her sex pulsed under her fingers.

As her breathing slowed, and she had come back to reality she knew, Knew she had to find out if he desired her as well for her own sanity.

But how, how could she find out? She had spent the better part of an hour pondering that question. Until she had shot up in her bed, as the epiphany had materialised within her mind.

Sorelli.

As a dancer, she had taken all her questions and worries to Sorelli, who never failed to answer and soothe her anxieties. She had been like the bigger sibling Christine had never had in that way.

But how would Erik react to her leaving so soon, ire or anguish, or both? he was often a paradox of raging emotion.

No, she would not be afraid, She had told him, she would not be kept down here, in the morning she would face Erik, and then… Then she would venture above and pay Sorelli a visit.

At least that’s what she had told herself as she prepared for bed that night, praying that Sorelli would have some sort of solution that evades her, until she finally had slipped under the cocoon of sheets, and pillows.

Now she sits staring at her door, preparing to confront him, taking a deep breath she stands, closes the distance and pulls open her door.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Christine, loses count of how long she paces in front of the door to the parlour, her shoes leaving imprints in the plush carpet beneath her.

She pauses a moment studies the pattern of the wallpaper, peeling at the corners from the damp; in an attempt to clear her racing mind. Erik startles her from such thoughts when he says, “Are you going to stand out there all day, or are you coming in my dear?” The silky caress of his voice draws her in, she pulls open the door and steps over the threshold.

Erik sits in his large armchair, a sizable book in his lap, before the roaring fire. She frowns at the material obscuring his face, but decides now is not the time to push the issue.

He regards her expectantly. Her mouth opens and closes, but she cannot seem to summon words, her hands twist within the skirts of her dress, and her heart speeds. She debates turning around, telling him it’s nothing, shutting herself in her room and never facing him again.

“Christine?” He regards her over his book, eyes drilling into her, and she feels like he could read her every thought like the worn, time yellowed pages before him. She gathers any remaining courage she possesses, tilts up her chin, and fists her hands by her sides.

“I will be taking a trip this morning, I will return this afternoon.”

The book in his lap closes with a sharp thud, she flinches. He Places the book on the small table beside his chair, His eyes not moving from her once.

She surppresses a shiver.

“And where are you going?.”

“Above, to visit an old friend.”

His lip curls, “Have you, decide to leave me after all, go see that foppish, boy Christine.”

Irritated, her fits tighten. “No, Raoul is long gone Erik, from my presence and from my heart.”

“So who is it then, Christine, who is the suitor you are running away to, who will inevitably steal you away from me” His voice, in contrast to his words, remains deadly calm.

“There isn’t one Erik, and besides, what about me? you make it sound like I have no opinion on the matter, just because men may want my attention, doesn’t mean I want theirs Erik.”

“Your opinion would be anyone over me Christine.”

“How can you possibly know that without asking.”

“Because of what I am, Christine, all I must do to be reminded is look upon my wretchedness.”

She crosses the distance, kneels before him and places her hand atop his, he inhales sharply, stiffening at her touch, but as she meets his golden stare, His eyes are wide, terrified.

“There is no one else Erik, I’m going to visit a dancer, an old friend of mine” She hesitates. “I, I need some advice.”

“Erik can give you advice, what is it, just name it, if Erik happens to not know, he can find it in one of his books he has many Christine.”

Her heart tugs at her eagerness. “I don’t doubt that you could,” her face heats, “But I feel most comfortable seeking this advice from an old female friend, the topic is quite delicate.”

He nods. “Of course Erik understands.” He hesitates, looking away. His eyes return to her’s, timid, his head bowed. “And Christine, she. She will return.

Her heart breaks for him all over again. “I will return Erik.”

She grasps his hand, long, calloused from playing, and brushes her lips faintly against the back of it. He gasps, and her body heats in response, her breaths coming a little quicker. Silent, she releases his hand, and when his face comes into view, there are tears escaping his mask.

“Oh Erik,” she mumble’s, fighting the urge to stay be by his side. “Goodbye Erik,” she continues, “I’ll be back this afternoon I promise.” He is still for a beat then nods, Turing at the door, she flashes him a smile.

She exits the parlour, and makes her way to the entrance hall, She slips on her Cloak, left hanging on the coat stand. Pulling open the front door, she sets off, in pursuit of answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. 
> 
> Feel free to leave a comment or Kudos if you enjoyed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. 
> 
> If you enjoyed feel free to leave a comment or kudos.
> 
> If you would like to contact me you can do so on my Tumblr: itstheoperaghost


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